


The Family of Mixed Blood

by Sargerogue



Series: The Line of Wanderers [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Family, Small cameos by other characters, Struggles of being a dwobbit, some character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 14:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15121844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sargerogue/pseuds/Sargerogue
Summary: Children are precious to dwarrows. Frye Took and his wife Asta have a baby girl, Freye, who is just as dwarfish as she is hobbitish. Follow her through some of her more memorable early life experiences, including meeting Thorin Oakenshield.





	1. 2876

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone read the first installment when I originally uploaded it and has been waiting for an update, I apologize. Life decided to throw curve balls several times.

2876, On the trade route between dwarf kingdoms

Frye gazed across the fire at Asta, the most beautiful dwarf maiden he had ever seen. Frye knew her well, having worked the same trading caravans that her father ran for several years. Her official title was cook for the caravan but she was brilliant with a blade. The only dwarrowdam he had seen rival her was his own mother with the exception of Princess Dís (and that was definitely a sparring match he would never forget). Frye enjoyed talking with her for hours or simply working alongside her. He was completely smitten.

His gaze dropped to the beads in his hand. They were courtship beads. He had crafted them with the help of his mother as well as dagger for his One. The family gift was a set of throwing knives for her father, crafted by his mother’s hands. He had all of the blades concealed inside his jacket. He had been trying to work up the nerve to ask for her hand for weeks now.

Asta’s father, Drundar, was standing beside a wagon lighting his pipe. Frye swallowed his pride and walked over, clearing his throat as he reached the man.

“Took you long enough,” the older dwarf said. He took the throwing knives from Frye’s hands, inspecting the craftmanship and humming approvingly. “Your mother does make the best knives. Well, go ask her, son.”

“Sir?”

“You two are sickening with the doe eyes you send over the fire when you’re not practically plastered to each other. I’ve been working on your family’s gift in case my Asta got the courage to finally ask you first. Now go ask her; you have my blessing.”

“Thank you.”

His nerves returned as he walked across the camp and knelt in front of Asta. She watched him wearily and gasped softly as he pulled out the dagger and the bead.

“Asta, daughter of Sita, I have admired you since the first time you bested me with knives. You have earned my respect many times over and my admiration. Most importantly, you have my undying love. I ask you, Asta, will you allow me to court you with the intention of making you my wife? I may not live as long as other dwarves thanks to my mixed heritage, but I will love you every day of my life. I cannot imagine a life without you.”

“Frye.” She reached for the dagger, her hands going of the runes carefully carved into it. She held the blade to her chest. “You did all this for me?”

“Yes, my beloved.”

“I accept your courtship.”

Frye whooped before asking to put the bead in. She admired the bead as it hung in her hair. Several bags of coins flew over their heads as someone cursed that they had been one day off.

The lovers married only a short year later. They moved their home to Bree to act as a waystation for traveling dwarves, especially those who disliked dealing with the other races of Middle Earth. It also made it easier for them to travel to the Shire to deliver metal works and visit his relatives who insisted he stop by. His mother moved into their home shortly thereafter and took up her metalwork once again.

After five years of marriage, Asta bore a daughter named after her deceased aunt. Freye, a near mirror of her aunt as a babe, differed in that her eyes were as green as emeralds, the same color of Freye’s eyes.


	2. 2882, Bree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin Oakenshield visits Bree to see his old friend's new grandchild.

2882, Bree

Despite Thorin’s Halls being close to Bree, Thorin had never taken the time to learn about the city of Men and Hobbits. He had travelled through several times, never staying more than a day, and knew that the Prancing Pony was the best place to get a bed and a meal. His trip to Bree now had a purpose, to see an old friend. Dís had sent on a letter to him in Rohan where he was part of a summer caravan. The letter informed him that Mahal and Yavanna had blessed Brynye Took’s line; a child had been born to her son just weeks after Thorin’s caravan, in the month of âfghelekvust.

Thorin had left Rohan almost immediately after receiving word. Children were so rare, especially in the communities that had fled from Smaug, that Thorin held a week every year where the newborns were brought forth to be blessed and he gave a present, always something simple or something needed by the family. For his friend, he would come to do the blessing now and share in their joy. He only lingered in Rohan long enough to make a present.

It was nearly dark when Thorin arrived in Bree, many shops closing up when he reached town. He had never been to Brynye’s forge and home and would be helplessly lost without guidance. He wandered the town in hopes of coming across a dwarf or someone that he felt wouldn’t start a fight with him over directions.

A sign caught his attention, a little bakery that was about to close down. There was an elderly man in the back of the store and a younger one in the front instructing a child how to do some task. The sign and the door both bore the words “Idmi khazâd” and a personal seal, one he recognized as the adopted uncle of Brynye Took. Thorin, rather than be upset at the use of Khuzdul, walked to the door of the shop and knocked. The eldest of the three men looked at him.

“Ah! Master Dwarf, welcome! How may we help you?”

“I saw your sign,” Thorin began.

“Oh yes! My two times great grandfather was given that by a dwarf by the name of Fothon, said it would let dwarrows we were friendly to them.”

“Then you know Brynye Took?” Thorin assumed.

“Yes, yes, quite well. She and her son fixed my furnace the other day, damned thing nearly exploded near the end of winter. Do you have business with Mistress Brynye?”

“I do. However, I have never been to her forge before and have spent little time in Bree. Would you be able to give me directions?”

“Bah, my grandson will show you. Right lad?” The boy looked up at Thorin and nodded. “Good lad. Be back for dinner. Oh, ask Mistress Brynye if she finished that pot for your mother.”

The boy excitedly led Thorin out of the shop and through the streets, rambling on about this and that. Thorin was reminded of Fíli and the way his eldest nephew talked when he was nervous, though it was becoming an older habit that Balin was breaking bit by bit.

They rounded the corner to another street and the lad ran ahead to a fenced off forge with a home residing behind it. The King-in-Exile was surprised to see it was the same home Brynye was raised in; he hadn’t known she had kept it after moving to his halls. Thorin trailed behind a bit, laughing to himself when he heard Brynye accuse the lad of being out past his curfew. He had entered the yard and was in sight when Brynye handed the lad a package and sent him on his way. She leaned in the doorway and turned her pearly smile to the King-in-Exile.

“My king this is an unexpected but welcome surprise. My missive reached you?” she asked.

“Dís sent it to me. I was with a caravan in Rohan at the time, but I gladly cut my trip short. A child born to a friend’s line, I wish I had been here sooner to give my blessing and my gift.”

“Bah, we didn’t know about the pregnancy until it was quite late. Asta showed few symptoms until nearly the end. Now then, come in. Supper is nearly done. How long will you be staying? And don’t say you’re finding a room elsewhere. I have the space.”

“If you permit me, old friend, a week.”

“You could stay a month and I doubt I would tire of you,” Brynye joked.

The older dwarrowdam led her king into the house. The sounds of a fussy baby greeted Thorin and the pleading words of a father soon joined the noise. His smile widened as he walked toward the kitchen after setting his pack down.

Frye was bouncing the baby gently as he held her, bags under his eyes and at the edge of his sanity, when he turned and saw the king. He yelped out a greeting, nearly dropping his child, and welcomed his mother’s friend to their home.

“What warrants such a visit from our king?” Asta asked. She had entered the kitchen carrying supplies from the larder.

“Please, I am here more as a friend than a king. I wished to see your child,” he explained. He looked at the frustrated father and smiled. “May I?” He held out his hands with an offer of help.

“Be my guest. She’s been like this for an hour.”

Thorin chuckled lightly as he took the baby in his arms and placed her in a different hold and swayed just a little different than what Frye had been doing. He palmed his pocket and pulled out a necklace. The donut shaped pendant was made from two separate gemstones that had been set together using a simple band of silver with small etchings. The inner ring was of amethyst and the outer was of malachite. There was a simple leather cord running off the piece, long enough to be a necklace. He held the cord in his fist and offered the ring to the babe. She mouthed it, gurgling happily.

“How did you do that?” Frye asked beyond amazed.

“My nephews needed something like this as well. Fíli has a necklace identical to this, different gems though. Kíli insisted that he would rather play with empty arrow shafts. This is my gift for her. I hope it protects her in the years to come.”

“Thank you,” came from the exhausted parents.

Dinner started and Thorin held the baby. He would wait until after they had finished eating to do a formal blessing for the child. When he asked her name, he was surprised to hear the name of Frye’s lost sister pass through their lips. He had never had the pleasure of meeting the elder Freye, but Frye insisted his daughter took after her in many ways. He said the eyes were similar but that Freye’s eyes were darker. Thorin thought to himself that her eyes looked almost Durin Blue, the same color that ran in his own family.

Late that night, after his formal blessing, he sat with Freye while her parents rested. He smiled down at the sleepy babe and said, “I give you this blessing on the word of my line. You will always have a place in my halls. You will not be lost should you lose all. You will be loved and protected. You will be a great dwarf, a great hobbit, and a great person. Perhaps one day you can meet my nephews. I think you and Fíli would get along well.”

Freye cooed and made a grabby motion with one hand. He chuckled and put his finger in her grasp. She moved it up and down as if shaking on a deal, wide eyes staring into his soul.

Brynye watched from the entryway. Thorin had lost much in his years. Dís told her how he saw to it that every child was taken care of as best as they could manage. No one went hungry anymore. Thorin had become a great leader through the years. One she was proud to know.

She took from a small keepsake chest a small contract. She cleared her throat as she walked in, handing it to him and taking the baby.

“What’s this?”

“A pledge of secondary parentage if it even became necessary.” Thorin’s brows furrowed as he opened the scroll. It was written in Brynye’s script and had the signatures of her son and daughter-in-law as well as her own. “The world is a dangerous place Thorin. If, Mahal and Yavanna forbid, my son and his wife were taken from this world and me as well, I hope you would see to her care yourself or by proxy with a dwarf you deemed fit, perhaps Balin.”

“Asta’s family would surely want her. Even your hobbit kin would have a claim before me.”

“Aye, true. However, Asta has lost nearly her whole family now thanks to mines or the dangers of the road. Her mother will not linger long now that her father has passed. My hobbit relatives would not know the first thing about raising a dwarfling, for she will certainly take after dwarrows than hobbits. We would trust you with her. As you have said, you have nephews. This is the one favor I would ask of you Thorin. It would mean more than any blessing.”

Thorin took his time in answering. He read the pledge and then looked at little Freye.

“I accept.” His old friend just smiled in relief and gave him back the child after he signed. She would see to it copies were made for those who would need to know.

Thorin sat up with Freye as she fussed late that night. He hummed to her a song and she drifted back to sleep. He quickly followed. Asta found them in the rocking chair the next morning, the baby curled up on his chest while his arms held her firm even in sleep. Brynye joined her in watching the scene. It was, perhaps, the first time Thorin had relaxed in months.


	3. 2886, Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynye, while on a trading caravan, is injured and turns back instead of hindering the caravan. The nearest help is Rivendell where she meets some unexpected familiar faces.

2886, Rivendell

If there was one great difference between Brynye Took and the rest of the dwarrows than inhabited Arda, it was that she did not possess a disdain for elves. She remembered the days where a few elves stopped by the Great Smial when her family had also been visiting. So, she never grew to dislike them.

Which did Brynye well when her trip to the Iron Hills had gone suddenly amiss. She had broken her blasted arm and the caravan she was traveling with could not afford the risk of an injured member over the Misty Mountains. So, Brynye did the only thing she could think of: she went to Rivendell to ask for help.

An elf named Lindir welcomed her as she reached the courtyard. She had a rough sling on and was looking worse for wear considering half of her supplies were buried under fifty feet of a mudslide. She had left the caravan on the edge of the mountains and hiked back to Rivendell without a horse.

“I am surprised to see a dwarf willing to come to our halls,” Lindir confessed as he walked her to the Halls of Healing.

“I was raised by hobbits, Master Elf. I bear no ill-will toward your kind as many of mine do. I honestly do not understand the issue. It has been a debate I have had with friends many times. However, I could not continue with my caravan in the condition I am in. The Misty Mountains are not safe for the injured.”

“Well said.”

“Bry!” The dwarf turned sharply to spot Belladonna Took running down the hall toward her. Behind her, Gandalf the Grey and an elf stood watching the hobbit curiously. Brynye caught her wayward Took cousin in one arm and held her close. “What are you doing here?”

“I was attached to a caravan going from the Blue Mountains to the Iron Hills. I was meant to strike a deal for a few choice ores on behalf of some smiths in the Blue Mountains, but a rockslide caught my caravan. I ended up injured. I had to turn back. What are you doing here, little cousin?”

“Travelling with me.” Brynye looked at Gandalf.

“Tharkûn.”

“It is good to see that after all these years you have been educated in the dwarfish ways, young one. I am sorry I missed your mothers’ funerals.”

“You are a busy wizard, Gandalf. I do not see it as a slight. They spoke of you highly. I do expect you to swing by Bree one of these days to meet my son and granddaughter.” Apparently, Gandalf was where Shanna learned how to fight and explore. “I see you have taken another Took under your wing.”

“Your cousin is simply helping me with errands,” Gandalf replied. “She also needed an escort to Rivendell. The Thain had words he wished to be passed to Lord Elrond here, some light trading I believe it was. Lord Elrond, this is Brynye Took. I believe I told you about her.”

“As I remember, you said she was just as mischievous as the Took that had taken her in,” Elrond commented. “It is good to meet you, Lady Brynye. Now, let’s see to that arm, shall we? Then I insist you rest here for a few days as my guest.”

Brynye could not say no. The elven healers were able to properly set her arm and placed a simple cast on her arm. She cleaned up with the help of Belladonna before attending supper with Lord Elrond, Belladonna, and Gandalf. It was the oddest of dinners for the dwarf.

Gandalf suggested that Brynye accompany them to Tharbad before returning with Belladonna to the Shire along the Greenway. Freed up from her commitments, Brynye did not see the harm in accompanying her cousin to the city of Men. This would also allow her to keep an eye on the hobbit.

The left three days after Brynye arrived. Lord Elrond provided them with a boat for the trip. Belladonna was giddy to get back on the road but wisely cautious of the road.

They arrived in Tharbad after a long week of travel. The currents had been swift, allowing their journey to be such. The elf that had accompanied them on the boat wished them well before plotting his return course.

“I need to see a blacksmith,” Brynye piped up. “Knives are growing dull from all that greenery and meat I’ve been cutting for supper. I lost my tools in the landslide.”

“Take your cousin with you. I shall see about rooms,” Gandalf voiced. “And visit an old friend.” Brynye was sure the wizard had an old friend in nearly every town in Arda.

The hobbit and dwarf headed off toward the district most likely to contain the smithery. They asked a kind woman where the nearest blacksmith was and she directed them to the visiting one that was only a few shops down. After purchasing a snack from her stall, the pair went down to the smithery.

What greeted Brynye was a familiar sight. Bent over the anvil inspecting a new horseshoe, with perhaps a few new grey hairs, was Thorin Oakenshield. Dwalin was walking back in carrying large buckets of water. Balin sat on a stool taking notes in his book.

“Well isn’t this a sight for sore eyes,” she commented loud enough for Balin to hear. The older dwarf looked up and called her name before motioning her in. She hugged the older dwarf tightly.

“It is good to see you lass,” Balin said. Beside him, Thorin cleared his throat. Brynye grinned and hugged the king-in-exile.

“My friend it has been a few years,” Thorin remarked. “How are your son and his wife? Little Freye?”

“They are well. Child looks like a proper dwarf though there is a lack of beard still. That necklace you gave her is always around her neck. I’ve had to replace the leather strap twice this year already. Asta is still hoping she’ll get sideburns at least. She does have a light dusting of hair on her feet even if they are the size of dwarf feet.”

“She’ll be beautiful dwarrowdam one day and make the family proud,” Balin insisted. Dwalin came forward and bashed heads with Brynye. The older dwarf fished a cookie from her bag. She had managed to make a few in Rivendell and they kept well. Dwalin grinned and thanked her for the cookie. Brynye was just glad to see his foolish mohawk was gone.

“Who is this young lass?” Balin inquired. Belladonna watched the dwarves with interest. While Brynye was a dwarf, true, it never felt so to Belladonna. Now, confronted with three dwarves, she was in a bit of shock.

“My cousin Belladonna Took daughter of the Thain. She is accompanying Tharkûn on a few errands. I was supposed to be in the Iron Hills bargaining for a few Bree smiths and an Ur and his apprentices from Ered Luin but received an injury.” She motioned to her cast. “Luckily I had a second smith with me; he goes in my place now. Then I came upon the wizard and my cousin. Tharkûn suggested I accompany them. Belladonna will have to return to the Shire and Bree is a short walk away.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Lady Took,” Thorin said.

“Oh please, it’s Belladonna. Now Cousin, didn’t you need a knife looked after?”

“Lost your supplies?” Dwalin asked.

“Aye, and one arm isn’t good for working either way. I have a few knives that need sharpening.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Dwalin took the knives from her and gladly sharpened them for her. They talked for some time before the dwarrowdam and the hobbit determined it would be best to find their third company member. Brynye hugged each of the dwarves and made them promise to come visit her in Bree, though when they might was up for debate. Balin and Dwalin hadn’t darkened her door in an age after all.

Gandalf found them on their way back to the stables. They had rooms for the night and resupplied in the morning. They were gone before midmorning back along the Greenway. It was a good trip.


	4. 2896, Tuckborough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freye meets everyone's favorite hobbit and a bond is made.

2896, Tuckborough

The Tooks, Belladonna would admit, knew how to throw a party. However, her father’s ability to throw a great party made it particularly hard to locate her son who had run off with his wooden sword some time earlier in the night when Bungo was supposed to be watching him.

“Bilbo! Bilbo Baggins!” she called.

It was useless to shout; one could barely hear themselves think and shouts were muffled by the music. Bungo had ceased being helpful, three sheets to the wind despite his title of gentlehobbit and still insisting that he could beat one of her brother’s in a drinking game. She dearly loved her husband but their six-year-old was off wandering somewhere.

As she approached a quieter side of the party, she spotted a familiar head of curly hair resting on the shoulders of a young hobbit, perhaps a faunt but surely not a tween. She wasn’t completely sure though. The woman was taller than most faunts and tweens. Belladonna hurried toward them, the young girl moving enough as she swayed that the pair she was talking with were revealed.

“Cousin Frye!” Belladonna called out. The hobbit-dwarf looked up and grinned widely. He clenched his pipe between his teeth and opened his arms wide to greet her. He caught his younger cousin in a hug and spun her around. The girl, Frye’s daughter clearly, bounced little Bilbo on her hip. “I see you have found my son.”

“Freye was showing him how to hold his wooden sword properly,” Asta informed her. “Then the laddie fell and skinned his knee. Wouldn’t stop crying until she picked him up.”

“I believe you have not met my daughter yet. Bell, this is Freye. She’s turning fourteen this year,” Frye explained.

“At your service, cousin,” Freye said bowing her head slightly. “Bilbo seems to be quite tired now.”

“Rightly so. Should be getting to bed, he should,” Belladonna said looking at her lad.

“Stay wit’ Freye,” Bilbo mumbled rubbing his tired eyes and curling into her shoulder.

“I could take him to bed,” Freye offered. “And wait until you return home to leave.”

“Oh dear, I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“I insist. I’m not much for parties,” the lass confessed. “Little overwhelming.” Belladonna hesitated but gave her the instructions up to the rooms they were staying in at her father’s smial. Freye disappeared into the darkness toward the smial.

When Bungo finally reappeared after a good hour of the cousins catching up, Frye volunteered to help the inebriated Bungo to their rooms. Asta followed her husband toward the smial where they were also staying.

All was quiet in the smial. The party stayed outside while those too tired to continue returned slowly to their rooms. The Thain nodded the group as they entered the house while nursing a cup of tea and telling a story to one of his young grandchildren who sat on his lap.

Bungo was put to bed while the women went to find Freye and Bilbo. They found the pair in the next room, the guest room Bilbo was using. Freye sat reclined against the headboard of the bed with Bilbo curled up into her side. Freye’s arms held him firm, one hand settled in his curly hair. One of his hands had grabbed a braid and was clutching it firmly.

“We can get her in the morning,” Asta murmured before Belladonna closed the door.

It was the beginning of many sleepovers between the two cousins. Freye took to spending a few months every year with the Baggins family of Bag End, always more than willing to go off with Bilbo on his hunt for elves in the forest. They became as close as siblings over the years.


	5. Summer 2902, Hobbiton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Bilbo actually stole something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is purely because of a joke later in the series.

Summer 2902, Hobbiton

Summers in the Shire were the best; any fauntling will tell you that and even a dwarfling-fauntling if you managed to pin her down to ask her anything. It had been many years since the Shire had been graced with the presence of dwarrows regularly but after Freye Took met Bilbo Baggins, there was no separating them. Frye had no choice but to send his daughter off several times a year to see her relatives in the Shire (that wasn’t counting weddings or holidays they were to attend).

“Come on,” Bilbo called down the lane to his cousin. She was cursing and picking a particularly large splinter from her feet. When in the Shire, do as the Hobbits do after all. She cursed her dwarfish feet, the desire for thicker skin coming over her not for the first time.

Bilbo ran back up to his cousin and crouched. He winced in appreciation of the splinter she took out before reaching in his back pocket for a pair of thick leathery socks. He slipped them on her bare feet.

“Mum asked Aunt Brynye what she would use so you didn’t have to wear shoes all the time.”

“A blessing,” Freye replied. “Thank you, Cousin.”

Then Bilbo was off again, pulling her to her feet and forcing her onward.

They had been up to nothing but mischief that day. They had started the day sneaking out of Bag End, though Bungo caught them when he was coming up from the house of Hob Gammidge – The Baggins of Bag End had frequented the smial since Hob inherited it from a relative and moved to Hobbiton for the space of the home. Bilbo had heard Hob’s children complaining about Hobbiton and their desire to move back, but Hobson seemed to like it in Hobbiton more than anyone else. That might have been because of his adorable childhood crush on young Iris from down the lane. Bungo has been trying to help his new tenants adjust to Hobbiton and it was paying off. For all that a family member of the Gammidge had lived in that smial since the time Baggins Family had controlled the land there, Hob knew nothing of Hobbiton. – and promised to send Belladonna after them if they didn’t return in time for afternoon tea (since the children would clearly be skipping lunch and elevensies).

Well, they hadn’t exactly skipped elevensies. No, they had snagged from food from the farm of the Maggot family and been nearly chased out by the dogs. Freye had come away laughing while hefting her cousin onto her shoulders and running down the road like a dragon nipped at her heels.

All that running had tired them out quickly and brought on hunger but neither cousin wanted to head back to Bag End just yet for lunch. Still, that was the direction they headed.

They met young Hobson and his siblings as they stared longingly at several pies sitting on the windowsill to cool.

“Your mum not letting you have ‘em yet?” Freye asked.

“Yeah,” the seventeen-year-old Hobson groaned. The younger siblings all stared longingly at the four pies as well. “Says they’re for tea.”

“Would you share them if we filched them for you?” Freye asked.

“No one has ever managed to steal from Ma. No one,” the youngest sibling, a cute little child with an innocent smile that convinced the adults she was pure sunshine, declared.

“Challenge accepted,” Freye replied. “Bilbo?”

“If Mum finds out.”

“Aunt Bella won’t find out, and even if she did you know I’d cover for you.”

The cousins shared a look before nodding. Freye jumped the fence and pulled her cousin over with her. Bilbo hid behind the rose bushes while Freye made the first attempt. She had barely put her hand on the sill when it was pinned with an apple. She looked up, wide-eyed, to see Rowan smiling down at her.

“Hungry, Freye?”

“Uh, yes ma’am.”

“Have an apple dear. Almost didn’t hear you, but your beads clicked,” she informed her. “Good technique though.”

“Uh, thank you ma’am.” Freye took the apple and ran back to where Rowan’s children watched.

Bilbo waited a few minutes before creeping forward. Bilbo was even quieter than his cousin and filched one pie from the windowsill without Rowan’s notice. Bilbo took a second one and then ran to the fence as quiet as he could. His cousin lifted him up over the fence and all the children ran off before Rowan discovered the theft.

They heard her shouts from up the row a few minutes later. It was too late though, the pies had been divided and eaten. Hobson promised to get the evidence back to the smial, perhaps hidden under the afternoon mail.

After their little bit of fun, the pair headed up to Bag End to clean up. Belladonna clicked her tongue at the sight of them and threw them into a bath before tea, which was a good idea as Old Took showed up for tea not long after.

Rowan never found out which fauntling managed to steal the pies. Hobson wisely kept his mouth shut, the ire of his mother would fall upon him if he even whispered a word. The next time Freye visited, she and Bilbo snatched a pie each from Rowan’s windowsill. Bilbo did his while Freye distracted Rowan with questions about seasoning while Freye stole her while Bilbo shouted about a rabbit eating Rowan’s carrots (which there actually had been a rabbit eating the carrots and the Gammidge family had rabbit stew for dinner). Freye and Bilbo slipped the pie pans back on the windowsill the next day with little wood carved pies, a thank you note, and a few coins laying inside the freshly washed dishes.


	6. Hobbiton, the Noakes Smial, 2904

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freye learns traditions of one of her great-grandmother's families: healing and legends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also why this upload took so long. I realized I never specified where Freye learned about healing before other events.

Hobbiton, the Noakes Smial, 2904

There were not many Noakes hobbits left in Hobbiton, most had moved to Buckland over the years. Still, there were two families left, one of which still had a healer in the family, old Nana Noakes as she was called.

It was spring, an early trip for Freye and Brynye, but an important one. It was time for Freye to learning the Noakes Healing Way and to learn the Unwritten History of Hobbits. It was a tradition in the Noakes family, one that was dying out with the lack of interest in recent generations. Brynye had been taught by Tanta years ago but she would rather another Noakes, a practicing one, taught Freye now. So, Freye was dropped off at Nana Noakes home in early spring with a promise from Brynye to retrieve her before autumn.

“Tell me, young one, can you feel the hum in the air, in the ground? Can you feel the presence of Yavanna?” Nana asked.

Freye hesitated to answer. She felt something in the air, something similar to what she felt when working with metals, gems, or stones. There was a different flavor to it though. She took off her shoes and dug her feet into the earth a little followed by her hands. Just out of her grasp, she could feel it, a thrumming in the earth, in the air. It was a matching rhythm to the one she felt in stones.

“Yavanna?” she asked softly.

“You feel it,” Nana said with a smile. “Do you feel your Mahal as well when you work dwarfish crafts?” Freye nodded. “Then you are ahead of any apprentice I have ever trained. Most take years to feel it; you are blessed to be so tuned in already. That is the song that was sung into this world, the one that gives us all life and feeds everything we do. The greatest healers in Middle Earth are those that can tap into that power, the threads of the world. That is what makes elven healers so powerful and what makes hobbits similarly talented.”

“I didn’t know that,” Freye said.

“Few do. Even the elves have forgotten where we learned this from. Now then, see this flower?” she asked and motioned to one of them. “What is it?”

That started the hours of identifying every plant in the herbal garden Nana kept. She had a greenhouse that she had used over the winter to keep her plants alive and they still flourished now.

Nana taught her about calendula—useful for healing and strengthening skin--, cayenne—it helped stop bleeding--, chamomile—used for those who are stressed, those with inflamed skin, some mild pains as well and even sleep--, chickweed—helps with skin issues like rashes and some inner body issues relating to cleansing the body--, feverfew—which clearly helped with reducing fevers but also helps with migraines--, and the wonders of garlic and ginger. That was just the first day too. Nana insisted that the best medicine was rooted in the herbs just in case the magic failed or the darkness of a land obscured the healing magic.

Learning to connect to that magic, the threads throughout the world, took longer than any memorization of herbs. Even with her advantage of knowing what to feel for, she still had to connect with it, form a bond with the magic of Middle Earth. Nana promised it took time for even the most talented healer to find the connection.

It clicked for Freye halfway through summer. One of the Brandybuck faunts fell in the Water, the river in Hobbiton. Freye and Nana had been nearby to pick herbs when from a Hornblower lad started screaming for help.

A pair of Tooks were just dragging the boy up to the edge of the water when the healer and her apprentice arrived. Nana ushered them all back as she took in the lad. He wasn’t breathing. She shook her head and looked at the Hornblower lad sadly.

Nana then saw that her apprentice was not halting in her actions. There was something that Freye saw, something Nana could not despite her years. Freye tilted the lad’s head back and pumped on his chest. Nana had seen a Ranger do something similar once before when a Goodchild lass had fallen in.

“What do you need me to do?” Nana asked.

Freye ignored her. She paused her actions and breathed into his mouth a few times before returning to pumping his chest.

The lad lurched upward, coughing and spluttering. Freye turned him onto his side, lightly hitting his back to help dislodge the water. After he had coughed it all up and puked some more to beside, Freye let him relax against her.

“How did you do that?” the Hornblower lad asked.

“I saw the weave,” Freye mumbled. She looked at Nana. “It was there, a mix of Mahal and Yavanna. I could see the threads.”

“And that, my dear, is how you tap into the magic of the world. Now then, let’s get this lad warmed up and some herbs into him. Drowning takes a lot out of you.”

That was that night that Nana sat Freye down to tell her the true history of the hobbits, at least what was known by the few Teller Families left in the Shire, most of them having been descendants of the Stoors though there were a few others that knew as well.

“They are the stories you have been told since before you were born,” Nana explained. “The stories of Aulë and Yavanna. Of the Old Land, where hobbits first lived, over the Misty Mountains and before the great Greenwood. These stories may be told to any, but few will believe. They have been recited by the Tellers since the beginning of the hobbits, to keep alive the history we have forgotten, the language abandoned. You must teach your children these tales, the whole truth that I will teach you. You must recite them frequently, keep them fresh in your mind. Do you accept the duty of a Teller?”

“Yes.”

“Then let us begin. Hobbits are not a race of Men as is the common thought. While there may be a line of Men running through the blood of hobbits, there are others to look to for nearer relatives.”

They spoke late into the night, long enough that new candles were brought out. It was like this for the rest of her stay, medicine taught alongside history and legend. Freye took in all she could and came back the next year to learn from Nana again.


	7. 12-30-2911, Hobbiton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fell Winter will not stop the Tooks of Bree from looking after their favorite cousins in Hobbiton. Neither will a wolf.

12-30-2911, Hobbiton

The snow had been falling for weeks. The rivers of the Shire had frozen over. Any home built above ground had fallen at the weight of the snow, the hobbits fleeing to smials of friends. Food was rationed; meals cut to three a day. Wood was scavenged from fallen homes. Still, the hobbits feared the months ahead.

In the lull of a storm, several heavy sleds entered the Shire pulled by a small family. They worked their way to Hobbiton and up Bag Shot Row. One of the sleds stopped there, the others moving on to other smials to check on the inhabitants.

The pounding on the door startled Belladonna from her work at closing every crack in the smial. She answered the door wrapped in quilts and the person at her door entered carrying large boxes. It took a moment for her to realize it was Freye.

“What are you doing here child?” she demanded as the lass shook off the snow on her hood.

“We came with supplies,” Freye answered. “All we could get in Bree without emptying our own stores and those of the Breelanders. We also sent a message to the Blue Mountains for some coal. It could help where wood is sparse in the coming months. Grandmother said that won’t be here for another few weeks.”

“Bless your grandmother,” Bungo said as he walked by wearing hastily made slippers. “Your cousin is in his room, one of the warmest we have right now.”

“I have more supplies for you first,” she replied. Bungo manned the door for her and opened it far enough for her to put the boxes in and then Belladonna would haul them off. She finished with the sled and propped it up over the entrance of Bag End, the angle allowing someone to slip in from the side but to let the snow roll down the hill. Once she was finished, she slid into the smial and took off enough layers she wasn’t soaking from snow. She joined her cousin in his room, the poor hobbit freezing even under seven blankets.

“Brought you a present,” she said.

“Boots?” he asked in an almost hopeful voice. Despite his thick skin, his feet were freezing and slowly turning blue. His mother had taken to wrapping scarves around his feet until she managed to knit him decent stockings.

“Of a sort.” She hauled a box over to his bed and opened it up. She brought out two stockings that were made of a thick hide with fur on the inside. “Ma killed a wolf.” She managed to get Bilbo’s feet out from under the blanket. She put a pair of thick knitted socks over his feet and then the stockings. The heat of the stockings, which he now realized had an even thicker bottom than he had thought, was heaven to his frozen feet. “Got a full suit here.”

“Bless your mother.”

Freye laughed heartedly and helped him get dressed in the lined pants and shirt and then a surcoat over top of that. He curled up in the warmth of the outfit.

A commotion in the front room caught their attention. Freye tucked her cousin into the bed once more and hurried out to Belladonna and Bungo. Hob Gammidge was standing in the doorway looking somewhere between frozen and dead.

“Wolves. They’re coming over the river. The Thain is sending for help from any that can go. Mistress Brynye’s family has already joined them on the other side of Hobbiton but there was a spotting close to here. Word travelled from one smial to another. Do you have any weapons Belladonna?”

“I do.” Hob looked at the dwarfling. Freye pulled back her surcoat to reveal her own sword underneath. “Where was the sighting?”

A scream, barely audible over the storm and the closed door, reached them. The youngest of them was out the door quick and looking for the source of the scream. It came from down the hill.

She jumped the fence and ran through someone’s garden. Wolf tracks led up from the water at the base of the hill to a smial there. The door was missing, a load of snow blocking half the entryway. The prints led inside the smial.

Freye beat her sword against the sheath, the ringing surely catching the attention of the wolf inside. It slowly walked out, sick and foaming at the mouth. The beast lunged, and she jabbed, impaling the pitiful beast through its chest. In the state the wolf was in, a brave hobbit with a solid iron skillet could have taken it down. She slid her blade free and entered the home.

“Are you all right?” she asked the mother hobbit and her two children. She didn’t see a father though she remembered one from that summer, perhaps this home was one that lost a family member to sickness already.

“I couldn’t get the door closed.”

Freye told them to grab their things and hid two of the smaller children under her surcoat. She marched them all up to Bag End where Belladonna sent them into a guest room and squared them away.

“Are you all right?” Bungo asked her.

“Yes, Uncle Bungo.” She put her sword up and shook off the snow. He caught her shoulders and forced her to face him.

“Freye.”

“What if I had gotten there too late?”

Bungo gave her a weak smile and said, “You didn’t and that’s what matters. Now, go keep your cousin company. I’ll keep an eye out for your folks and Bry.”

The dwarfling headed back to her cousin and snuggled in with him.

It was hours before the rest of the Tooks showed up, a little worse for wear but alive. There had been a pack coming across the Water and it took the combined effort of the bounders, the Tooks (as in the whole clan that was in the Hobbiton area), and anyone that could find a pitchfork or a shovel to beat them back. In the process, three hobbits were killed and several more injured. It was the closest thing to war that the Shire had seen since the days of Bandobras Took.

Brynye, Frye, Asta, and Freye only remained in Hobbiton long enough to rest their weary bodies and then they were headed back to Bree. They returned later in the winter with a load of coal and other supplies for Hobbiton. Of all the villages in the Shire, Hobbiton survived the best during the Fell Winter.


	8. 3-15-2941; Bree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin visits Bree once more and meets a certain wizard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will have a one-shot associated with it later to tackle Thorin and Brynye talking after Gandalf leaves.

3-15-2941; Bree

Freye polished the arrowheads she was crafting. They had been an order for a Man in Bree. While Brynye was well versed in arrowheads, her granddaughter had surpassed her in that skill years before thanks to her skill with the bow (taught by a few of her hobbit cousins). That left Freye alone in the Took Forge while her grandmother made a late afternoon run to the market for bread and a few other things.

A clearing of a throat caught Freye off guard. She looked up from her work to see a dwarf standing in the doorway, his dark mane of hair having a few grey highlights in it.

“Master Dwarf, good afternoon. Freye Took at your service. Is there a service you require? If you need the anvil, I am certain my grandmother would permit you its use.”

“I seek your grandmother out, young Freye. I am an old friend. Thorin Oakenshield, at your service and your family’s.” Freye dropped her tools and bowed to the king-in-exile. She addressed him as a king, not a family friend who swore to guide her if ever the necessity came.

He knew that Brynye had spoke of him with Freye, but not of how he was named godparent to her. His hands had shaken when he received the letter detailing the attack on the trade caravan Frye and Asta had been in years ago. The pair had gone in the stead of an Ered Luin smith and a guard at his own request. He trusted them to make the deals the people of Ered Luin needed from other dwarf kingdoms. When the letter had come, he could not face Brynye. Instead, he sent Dwalin with the letter and the beads that the caravan leader had sent with it as proof of death. They were too far from Ered Luin and the Shire to bring the bodies back; they were entombed in the stone of the White Mountains. The dwarf had not stayed long in Bree, long enough to deliver the news and catch sight of the younger dwarrowdam working in the forge. He could not face Brynye either, not with the tears in her eyes. She had understood and sent him away with a letter for Thorin. The letter was simple, it stated that she had those in Bree and the Shire who would contact him if she perished before Freye was able to be on her own, to stand on her own two feet in the worlds of dwarrows and hobbits.

Freye looked embarrassed as she said, “Your Highness forgive me for not addressing you properly.”

“At ease, young one. I know you meant nothing by it.” How could she? She had never met him or Dís, she would not know. “Is Brynye available?”

“She went to the market but will return shortly. Would you like a drink?”

“You are busy.” He knew better than to get between a smith and their craft.

“I was just finishing. Please.” Thorin nodded and waited for her to clean up before following her to the house. He placed his pack on the ground next to the door and followed her into the kitchen. She made him fresh coffee to warm him up from his trip. He thanked her and took one of the scones that she offered as well.

“Freye, dear,” her grandmother called as she entered the home and spotted the pack. “Who is here?” The older dwarf entered the kitchen and spotted Thorin. She grinned and put her basket down. They greeted each other as old friends, a solid headbutt and a strong hug. “Thorin.”

“I was passing through on my way back to Ered Luin. I hoped I might stay the night with those I could trust.”

“You are always welcome here. You have been dearly missed. Goodness, we don’t have enough here for a proper dinner and the market just closed. We’ll have to go out to the Prancing Pony. Freye, clean yourself up. Thorin, would you like a bath before or after we go?”

“After. I smell rain in the air.”

They were quickly prepared and walked across the town to the Prancing Pony. Freye asked a few nervous questions of the king-in-exile while Brynye refilled their ales. They were waiting on the meal to be brought and had quickly gone through a tankard of ale. Brynye sat back down. The waitress came over with their food, for which Thorin thanked her earnestly.

Thorin noticed a few Men watching him. Freye noticed as well and palmed a knife in one hand. Thorin’s hand reached toward his sword, leaned up against the table. Freye had slipped Brynye a blade under the table. Just as the tension mounted, a man sat down across from them.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked. Brynye looked shocked to see Gandalf. He caught the waitress and ordered the same meal. “I should introduce myself, I am Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey. Good evening Mistress Brynye, Miss Freye.”

“I know who you are.” Gandalf began to sweet talk Thorin but Brynye cut him off.

“Gandalf, perhaps you should continue your business with Thorin at our home, away from prying ears,” Brynye suggested.

“Good idea, splendid.” From there, the dwarrowdam was able to distract Gandalf until all four meals had been finished. Upon return to the house, Brynye sent Freye to bed. The younger woman still heard the shouts that came from her grandmother as she argued with Gandalf. Thorin attempted to calm her, and in the end, it sounded as if he did.

The next morning, Thorin left early. He promised to visit as soon as he could and would write as well. Brynye called him a fool of a dwarf but wished him well on his journey. Freye remained rather confused.


	9. 4-22-2941; Bree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brynye realizes her granddaughter is all grown up.

4-22-2941; Bree

Brynye looked over at her granddaughter as she sat at the kitchen table polishing a set of knives she had finished the previous night. It had been nearly thirteen years since they had lost Frye and Asta. At this rate, with the losses she had suffered, Brynye was not sure she would live a full dwarf life. The losses were building and she was not sure how much more her poor heart could handle.

That had led to Brynye removing Freye from almost all dwarfish life as it was the lifestyle that continually took from her. She had insisted on Freye being more peaceful, more hobbit like, but her granddaughter was perhaps too much of a dwarf for that to be allowed. She was adventurous and stubborn, a Took and a dwarf rolled into one person in such a perfect combination you would have thought she was the half-hobbit instead of her son.

There was a small problem though. With every passing day, Freye grew restless in their work in Bree, particularly after Thorin’s visit. She could see the need for adventure in the young one. It had been in her for a long time, but Brynye had denied Freye her independence. She was an adult by Brynye’s half-breed standards. She should stop denying it.

“Freye.” The lass looked up from her work. “Come here.” Brynye motioned to the chair beside her. Freye sat down and watched as her grandmother pulled forward the chest that had sat in their living room for years. “I have wronged you, my dear child. I sought to protect you from the dangers of the dwarf world. In doing so, I kept you caged. I see now that you’ve got a lot of your father in you, a lot of my dear Wystan as well. You have the heart of a Took and the soul of a dwarf. I should have let you go on an adventure years ago.”

“Sigin’amad,” she began to protest.

“No, dear one. Listen. You are of age in my eyes. Your father and yourself, you mature slower than hobbits but faster than Dwarves. But I know the appearance of an adult. You have been one for several years.” She frowned as she pulled a small pouch from her pocket. She extracted a necklace with beads strung on it as well as two loose beads. “An adult and a master blacksmith. You know your weapons as well, but I never reached mastery, I cannot give you that bead. Nor even a journeyman bead for healing, the craft taught to you is unique and there is no proper master to see you tested by dwarrows.  This necklace contains the beads of our family, those who have passed already. This one here,” she motions to a bead on the necklace, “was a bead your father made your aunt, to show his sibling love.” She then touched the bead already in Freye’s hair. “That one was your aunt’s family bead. Your father asked me for it when you were born. He hoped her spirit would protect you in this life. I hope the same now as I send you into the world. An opportunity I was never able to give her.”

The older dwarf straightened up and opened the chest. “Everything you need for a proper adventure. My father’s sword, your father’s axes, your mother’s daggers, and my bow and quiver. Take your weapons as well, but these will serve you best I feel. Before you object, I know how unhappy you are here. Please, take my blessing and go.”

“Where?”

“Visit family. Take jobs in other dwarf kingdoms. Visit places I have never been. Find your path, my dear. Just remember to write me. Perhaps you’ll find where we came from.” Brynye kissed her granddaughter’s forehead before leaving the room. She could hear Freye moving the chest to her room and the sounds of packing as well.

In the morning, Freye was gone. She left a note saying she wished to see a dear cousin before going elsewhere. Brynye smiled at the paper, folded it and put it in her pocket, before going to work in the forge with her latest apprentices from Ered Luin.


End file.
